


Headlights

by myloveiamthespeedofsound



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve Rogers is an idiotic asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7350640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myloveiamthespeedofsound/pseuds/myloveiamthespeedofsound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post CW one shot in which Steve reflects on his ability to make stupid life choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headlights

_Headlights_   
_Casting my shadow_   
_On the clouds behind me_   
_The dark in all that define me_   
_In all that blind and confusion_   
_How did I ever find you?_   
_Headlights_   
_Clearing the shadow_   
_On the clouds behind me I'm free for you to define me_   
_Nothing else in my vision_   
_How did I ever lose you?_   
[Headlights - Tor Miller](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkOPzg2IbWQ)   


  
  
Wrong.  It was all _wrong._  But he kept his hands in her blonde hair, kept his mouth pressed to hers as she slid her tongue against his.  Sharon’s hands moved to wrap around his midsection and his body responded to the touch, pressing into her, even if his mind remained a mess of hesitation and guilt.     
  
_That was -_   
  
_Late._   
  
God what had he been _thinking._ What was he still  thinking.  Was he that desperate to cling to a past he couldn’t move on from that he’d use Sharon the way he was.  He moved, pushed her toward the couch, she scooted up to sit on the back of it and wrapped her legs around him.  

_Stop thinking_ he tried to tell himself.  Where has thinking and hesitation ever gotten you.   
  
Sharon’s hands moved to tug at the hem of his shirt and he let her lift it up and over.  She dropped it to the floor and her lips trailed down his neck and along his bare chest.  There was a soft moan at the feel of it, and Steve’s fingers threaded through her hair.  

It would be easy really.  To let this go where it was starting to go.  To keep making shitty decisions and lose himself in her.  She was pretty.  She helped them when not many would.  They had - _some_ \- sort of connection.  Why _shouldn’t_ he be allowed this.     
  
“Steve…” Sharon mumbled as she lifted her head.  He caught a glimpse of her eyes, dark with lust and desire as she moved to claim his lips again.  Her legs around him tightened and she was soft and warm pressed against him, and even though the blood rushed in his veins his mind screamed one word and one word alone.   _Wrong._   
  
He pushed past it, pulled Sharon in closer and let a hand slip under her shirt.  Her skin was smooth, warm to the touch.  He had no idea what he was doing on so many levels.  His body responded to hers and he couldn’t pull back, but he couldn’t move forward.  He knew it shouldn’t have been a struggle, he knew there was a clear cut wrong and right here, but God he just felt so utterly _lost_ and alone _._   

_I didn’t want you to be alone._

His mind wandered to another kiss, a lifetime ago it felt like now.  Another set of lips soft against his.  To the feel of another body pressed into his in the midst of a battle, the way Natasha fit just perfect against him even as the world around them exploded.  Her voice that calmed the demons in his mind, when he let her.  When he let himself think of a future, when he let himself think about moving forward.  When he didn’t cling so damn hard to a past that was just that.  Past.  

_The past few years it didn’t seem to matter that much, figured I’d wait._

_For what?_

_The right partner._

He pulled back suddenly, a whimper escaped Sharon’s lips at the move.  “I - I can’t - “ he said, his voice rough.  “I’m sorry, Sharon, I’m so - God, I’m so sorry,” he continued.  “I’m a mess and this isn’t fair to you,” he continued.  
  
“I know,” she admitted softly.     


____________________________  


It took two weeks to convince Clint.  Two weeks of lectures about how he was an asshole, about how he was a selfish idiot who couldn’t see past his own interests to just _how much_ the dissolution of the Avengers was hurting Natasha.  Two weeks of _you chose your past over her future_ .  Two weeks of feeling worse about it than he already did.  But finally one morning Clint slapped a post it note down on the table in front of him. _Belize._     
  
It took three days to track her to a small bungalow on the beach just outside the city.  Another twenty minutes of lurking outside her door and she opened it before he could get the nerve up to knock.     
  
“What do you want?” she said as she stood in the doorway, not moving to let him in.   
  
Steve looked up at her.  She was beautiful, even in her anger.  He again had to wonder what the hell he had been thinking, how he could have thought for even a second that someone would make him feel an ounce of what he felt right then.  How could he have given up on this, how could he have _not_ fought for this.  Banner, The Accords - the excuses he had made to not fight for her.  He was an idiot.  

“You.” He said it simply, but not without conviction.  He watched her close for a reaction.  For any sign that he wasn’t too late, that he hadn’t _completely_ blown the best thing he could have ever had.  It was subtle.  Most would miss it.  But most didn’t know every single nuance of her expressions like he did.  Most wouldn’t catch that little quiver, that little flicker in her eyes.  That small, oh so tiny, moment when the Black Widow’s resolve shook and Natasha Romanoff peeked through.  He smiled.     
  
“You’re an asshole,” she said just as simply, with just as much conviction.

He nodded.  “I know.”  He wouldn’t deny her that.  

“I’m pissed at you,” she added.

He hung his head for a moment and then looked back up at her.  “I wouldn't expect otherwise.”  She had ever right.  He thought of every moment she had looked at him during the fall out of the accords.  Of the pain behind her eyes in her every glance.  Of the way her voice cracked when she begged him not to make it worse.  How she had been completely falling apart and how he hadn’t _missed_ it, he had _chosen_ to ignore it because he’d been too lost in his own pain, his own selfish interests.  

“So then why are you here?” she asked.    
  
He swallowed hard.  He had a million answers for that.  I love you.  I want you.  I couldn’t be with anyone else but you.  I want to make it right.  I want to apologize.  I want to spend however long you need me to spend to make this right.  He would say all that and more.  He would do whatever it took to show her that he knew he had been wrong, that he was sorry for letting her down.  

_We were all she had, all she ever wanted and you let that go_.  Clint’s words rattled around in his  mind.

A hesitant smile crossed his lips as he thought back to that afternoon of the funeral.   He should have told her then.  He should have held her longer, should have promised he’d make it all right.  Told her he wasn’t going anywhere and they’d get their family back.  “I didn’t want you to be alone,” he echoed her words.  He shrugged sheepishly and held her gaze.  

She kept his gaze for a long moment before she took a few steps back to let him in.  “This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” she warned as he moved into her house.    
  
He paused in front of her.  He hesitated before he reached a hand out to touch the side of her face gently.  Her breath hitched and she found herself leaning into the touch.  His hand moved to cup her face and he held her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracked slightly on the words.  He knew it wasn’t enough, but it was a start.

Natasha lifted a hand to curl around his, she turned her head to press a soft kiss to the inside of his palm.  “I know,” she said as she looked back up at him.  She smiled softly, laced her fingers through his as they dropped their hands and she led him into the house.


End file.
